


i'd hold hands for you

by peachsneakers



Series: febuqueery [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Febuqueery, First Crush, Fluff, Holding Hands, Nonbinary Chara (Undertale), Nonbinary Frisk (Undertale), Nonverbal Frisk (Undertale), Other, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 04:28:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17739014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachsneakers/pseuds/peachsneakers
Summary: Chara discovers feelings.





	i'd hold hands for you

**Author's Note:**

> This is starting so late omg, but I forgot about it until now.
> 
> Febuqueery February!
> 
> Prompt: first crush

You feel stupid.

You're who knows how many years old. It's a little hard to calculate, since you were technically dead for most of them. You've kind of settled on being nineteen now, and Frisk is eighteen. Asriel tries to pretend he's older than you both (and maybe he is in monster age), but he's still the same old dork, even if some of his Flowey tendencies have settled around him like a cloak.

But the point is, you're an  _adult_ and you've been around for a  _long_ time and this is-

Well, you've never felt like this before.

It started when you shared Frisk's head. Just a creepy little demon kid, floating along for the ride, only Frisk kept telling you not to call yourself that and somewhere along the way, you think maybe you stopped feeling that way.

You don't know how Frisk brings you back to life. Maybe it's with all that determination, brimming over like the ocean at high tide. You went to the ocean once, when you were small. Your birth mother warned you about the riptide. It will pull you out and you'll never be seen, she told you with grim relish, taking another drag on one of her shitty cigarettes. You wonder if they killed her in the end. You never felt steady enough to find out.

You don't know, but you were blinking and spluttering in a patch of golden flowers all the same, dirt and flower petals sloughing off familiar shorts and Ree's old green-and-yellow-striped sweater. And Ree was there, too, his fur stained with tears. The word 'Crybaby' hovered at the edge of your tongue, trapped between your teeth. You never say it.

The feeling, that strange, new, unfamiliar feeling, swells more when you move in with Frisk and Toriel. You and Asriel have matching bedrooms in Mom's place  _and_ Dad's place. Divorce kids. Shuttled back and forth. It's awkward at first and it hurts more than you want to admit, but they do their best to make the transition easy. Mom never yells at Dad when you or Ree are around, although you know sometimes she wants to.

Frisk makes it better. Stupid, dumb Frisk with their choppy, purposely uneven brown hair and their soft brown eyes (that they half-close a lot of the time because they're sensitive to light and not even sunglasses make it better all the way). The way their fingers move when they sign to you, dancing in a soft, precise swoop that makes your stomach flutter. You feel like you're in a bubble with them that no one can penetrate as you sign back, your own movements sharp and stiff and clumsy. Not even determination can erase your past mistakes.

Frisk is calm and quiet and  _determined_. Frisk is the perfect monster/human ambassador (something you know that you could never be, not with your jagged edges). Frisk has small, rounded handwriting that marches across straight lines on the page. Frisk likes orange juice and caramel candies and cinnamon. Frisk helps Papyrus and Sans make spaghetti on Saturdays (or as the comedian refers to them,  _Sans_ days, to the tune of his brother's despairing screech). You watch from a kitchen chair, your stomach uneasy at the sight of all that red, but it's worth it because it's  _Frisk_ (and it doesn't hurt that Sans and Papyrus make pretty good spaghetti).

You don't know how it started. You're watching a movie. Some shitty one on Netflix but hey, it's got no commercials. Frisk comes in and plops down next to you, their head automatically curving down toward your shoulder. Your breathing speeds up, and your hands feel sweaty. They don't appear to notice.

"What's this?" They ask, gesturing toward the screen. Your eyes are glued to the delicate movements of their fingers.

"I don't know," you answer aloud. You don't think you would be able to sign right now without your hands shaking. Your voice already leans into cracking, like you've just discovered puberty. "It was new."

"Good?" Frisk asks. You shake your head.

"Not really," you admit. "I dunno, I-" Frisk lifts their head to peer into your eyes. You swallow hard. Your throat aches.

"What's wrong?" They sign, their brows crinkled in concern.

"Nothing," you try to assure them, but you know they aren't buying it. You don't share a head anymore, but that doesn't mean Frisk can't read you like one of those shitty comics Ree's so fond of.

"I-" You lick suddenly dry lips. "Can I- Er- Can I hold your hand?" You blurt out. As soon as the words escape past your lips, you want to die. You want the couch cushions to swallow you whole, letting you recede into the bowels of the house to perish somewhere deep in the soil.

Frisk smiles.

"I thought you would never ask," they sign, their hand slipping into yours as the last gesture ends. Their hand feels soft and pleasantly warm. Their fingers intertwine with yours, and you can see the chipped purple nail polish where Muffet tried painting their nails last week.

"I like you," you admit, staring blindly at the screen. "Is that- is that okay?"

Frisk taps your chin with their other hand, guiding you to look back at them. Slowly, they raise your clasped hands, and bend your fingers into it as well.

" _Yes._ "


End file.
